CHAPTER XV
LOVE AND DUTY AT THE TOUCH
Thorne's case was now absolutely hopeless. By the testimony of twowitnesses a thing is established. All that Arrelsford had seen Edith hadseen. All that he knew, she knew. She had only to speak and the plan hadfailed; the cleverly constructed scheme would fall to pieces. Hisbrother's life would have been wasted, nay more, his own life also; forwell did he realise that the bold way he had played the game would themore certainly hasten his immediate execution. A spy in the Confederatecapital!
He could reproach himself with nothing. He had done his very best. Anordinary man would have failed a dozen times in the struggle. Courage,adroitness, resourcefulness, and good fortune had carried him so far,but the odds were now heavily against him and nothing that he could dowould avail him anything. The game was played and he had lost;Arrelsford had triumphed.
Thorne, in the one word that Edith Varney was to speak, would lose life,honour, and that for which he had risked both. And he would lose morethan that. He would lose the love of the woman who had never seemed sobeautiful to him as she stood there, pale-faced, erect, the veryincarnation of self-sacrifice, as were all the women of the Confederacy.And he would lose more than her love. He would lose her respect. Hishumiliation would be her humiliation. Never so long as she lived couldher mind dwell on him with tenderness. The sound of his name would be ahissing and a reproach in her ear, his reputation a by-word and a shame.Her connection with him and that he had loved her would humiliate heronly less than the fact that she had loved him.
His condition was indeed pitiable; yet, to do him justice, his thoughtswere not so much for himself as they were for two other things. Firstand foremost bulked largest before him the plan for which he had madeall this sacrifice, which had promised to end the weary months of siegewhich Richmond and Petersburg had sustained. His brother had lost hislife, he more than suspected, in the endeavour to carry it out, and nowhe had failed. That was a natural humiliation and reproach to his pride,although as his mind went back over the scene he could detect no falsemove on his part. Of course his allowing his love for Edith Varney toget the mastery of him had been wrong under the circumstances, but thathad not affected the failure or success of his endeavours.
And his thoughts also were for the woman. He knew that she loved him,she had admitted it, but once his eyes had been opened, he could havetold it without any admission at all. All that he had suffered, she hadsuffered, and more. If she would be compelled to apologise for him, shewould also be compelled to assume the defensive for him. She loved himand she was placed in the fearful position of having to deal the blow.The words which would presently fall from her lips would complete hisundoing. They would blast his reputation forever and send him to hisdeath. He knew they would not be easy words for her to speak. He knewthat whatever his merit or demerit, she would never forget that it wasshe who had completed his ruin; the fact that she would also ruin theplan against her country would not weigh very heavily in her breakingheart against that present personal consideration--after a while maybebut not at first. And therefore he pitied her.
He drew himself erect to meet his fate like a man, and waited. The waitwas a long one. Edith Varney was having her own troubles. She knew aswell as any one the importance of her testimony. She had come from theCommissary General's vacant office and had been back at the window longenough to have heard the conversation between General Randolph and thetwo men. She was an unusually keen-witted girl and she realised thesituation to the full.
Her confidence in her lover had been shaken, undermined, restored, andshaken again, until her mind was in a perfect whirl. She did not know,she could not tell whether he was what he seemed to be or not. It seemedlike treachery to him, this uncertainty. It would be a simple matter tocorroborate Mr. Arrelsford at once, and it occurred to her that she hadno option. But coincident with the question flashed into her mindsomething she had forgotten which made it possible for her to answer inanother way. Thus, she understood that the life of her lover hung uponher decision.
What answer should she make? What course should she take? She realised,too, that it was quite possible if she saved his life, it might resultin the carrying out of the plan about which there had been so muchdiscussion and which threatened so much against her country. If he werefalse and she saved him he would certainly take advantage of therespite. If he were true and she saved him no harm could come to hercountry. She was intensely patriotic. And that phase of the problemworried her greatly.
Her eyes flashed quickly from the vindictive yet triumphant fact ofArrelsford, whom she loathed, to the pale, composed, set face of Thorne,whom she loved, and her glance fell upon his wounded left wrist, tiedup, the blood oozing through the handkerchief. A wave of sympathy andtenderness filled her breast. He was hurt, suffering--that decided her.
With one brief, voiceless prayer to God for guidance, she turned toGeneral Randolph, and it was well that she spoke when she did, for thepause had become insupportable to Thorne at least. He had made up hismind to relieve the dilemma and confess his guilt so that the girl wouldnot have to reproach herself with a betrayal of her lover or her cause,that she might not feel that she had been found wanting at the crucialmoment. Indeed, Thorne would have done this before but his duty as asoldier enjoined upon him the propriety, the imperative necessity, ofplaying the game to the very end. The battle was not yet over. It wouldnever be over until he faced the firing party.
And then Edith's voice broke the silence that had become so tense withemotion.
"Mr. Arrelsford is mistaken, General Randolph," she said quietly,"Captain Thorne has the highest authority in this office."
Arrelsford started violently and opened his mouth to speak, but GeneralRandolph silenced him with a look. The blood of the old general was up,and it had become impossible for any one to presume in the least degree.Thorne started, too. The blood rushed to his heart. He thought he wouldchoke to death. What did the girl mean?
"The highest authority, sir," continued Edith Varney, slowly drawing outthe commission, which every one but she had forgotten in the excitement,"the authority of the President of the Confederate States of America."
Well, she had done it for weal or for woe. She had made her decision.Had it been a wise decision? Had she acted for the best? What interesthad governed her, love for Thorne, love for her country, or love for herown peace of mind? It was in the hands of General Randolph now. The girlturned slowly away, unable to sustain the burning glances of her loverand the vindictive stare of Arrelsford.
"What's this?" said General Randolph. "Umph! A Major's Commission. Incommand of the Telegraph Department. Major Thorne, I congratulate you."
"That commission, General Randolph!" exclaimed Arrelsford, his voicerising, "let me explain how she----"
"That will do from you, sir," said the General, "you have made enoughtrouble as it is. I suppose you claim that this is a forgery, too----"
"Let me tell you, sir," persisted the Secret Service Agent.
"You have told me enough as it is. Sergeant, take him over toheadquarters."
"Fall in there!" cried the Sergeant of the Guard. "Two of you take theprisoner. Forward, march!"
Two men seized Arrelsford, and the rest of them closed about him. To dothe man justice, he made a violent struggle and was only marched out atthe point of the bayonet, protesting and crying:
"For God's sake, he's in the Yankee Secret Service! He'll send thatdespatch out. His brother brought in the signal to-night!"
All the way down the corridor he could be heard yelling and struggling.General Randolph paid not the slightest attention to him. He steppedover to the telegraph table beside which Thorne stood--and with all theforce of which he was capable the young man could hardly control thetrembling of his knees.
"Major Thorne," he said reprovingly as Thorne saluted him, "all thisdelay has been your own fault. If you had only had sense enough tomention this before we would ha
ve been saved a damned lot of trouble.There's your commission, sir." He handed it to Thorne, who saluted himagain as one in a dream. "Come, gentlemen," he said to his officers, "Ican't understand why they have to be so cursed shy about their SecretService orders! Lieutenant Foray?"
"Yes, sir."
"Take your orders from Major Thorne."
"Yes, sir," returned Foray.
"Good-night," said the General, forgetful of the fact apparently thatEdith Varney was still standing by the window.
"Good-night, sir," answered Thorne.
Foray moved over to the table at the right, while Thorne leaped to hisformer position, and his hand sought the key. At last he could send hismessage, there was nothing to prevent him or interrupt him now, he wasin command. Could he get it through? For a moment he forgot everythingbut that, as he clicked out the call again, but he had scarcely pressedthe button when Edith Varney stepped to his side.
"Captain Thorne," she said in a low voice, giving him the old title.
He looked up at her, stopping a moment.
"What I have done gives you time to escape from Richmond," shecontinued.
"Escape!" whispered Thorne, clicking the key again. "Impossible!"
"Oh," said the girl, laying her hand on his arm, "you wouldn't doit--now!"
And again the man's fingers remained poised over the key as he stared ather.
"I gave it to you to--to save your life. I didn't think you'd use it foranything else. Oh! You wouldn't!"
Her voice in its low whisper was agonising. If her face had been whitebefore, what could be said of it now? In a flash Thorne saw all. She hadbeen confident of his guilt, and she had sought to save his life becauseshe loved him, and now because she loved her country she sought to savethat too.
The call sounded from the table. Thorne turned to it, bent over it, andlistened. It was the call for the message. Then he turned to the woman.She looked at him; just one look. The kind of a look that Christ mighthave turned upon Peter after those denials when He saw him in thecourtyard early on that bitter morning of betrayal. "I saved you," thegirl's look seemed to say, "I redeemed you and now you betray me!" Shespoke no words, words were useless between them. Everything had beensaid, everything had been done. She could only go. Never woman looked atman nor man looked at woman as these two at each other.
The woman turned, she could trust herself no further. She went blindlytoward the door. The man followed her slowly, crushing the commission inhis hand, and ever as he went he heard the sound of the call behind him.He stopped halfway between the door and the table and watched her go,and then he turned.
Lieutenant Foray understanding nothing of what had transpired, buthearing the call, had taken Thorne's place before the table. He had thedespatch about which there had been so much trouble, and upon which thewhole plan turned, in his hand before him.
"They are calling for that despatch, sir," he said as Thorne stared athim in agony. "What shall I do with it?"
"Send it," said the other hoarsely.
"Very good, sir," answered Foray, seating himself and taking hold of thekey, but the first click of the sounder awakened Thorne to action.
"No, no!" he cried. "Stop!" He rushed forward and seized the despatch."I won't do it!" he thundered. With his wounded hand and his well one hetore the despatch into fragments. "Revoke the order. Tell them it was amistake instantly. I refuse to act under this commission!"
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BOOK IV
WHAT HAPPENED AT ELEVEN O'CLOCK